L’Abattement des Poétes Muet
by Argentus 9
Summary: (French: The Dejection of the Silent Poets) A collection of short, Harry Potter based scenes augmented with some illustrative poetry of the French writer Jacques Prevert.
1. Expository Foreword

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L'Abattement des Poétes Muet

"The Dejection of the Silent Poets"

Expository Foreword

Let me first explain the significance of the title: "Dejection" refers to the sad fact that most of this series of short stories will be somewhat melancholy. The "silent poets" are not literal poets, per se, but I chose that description to symbolize the often overlooked, but still strangely beautiful, characters of the Harry Potter series. Finally, it's written in French because this endeavour was not based only upon J.K. Rowling's work, but also that of a famous French poet (who I will explain in greater detail). 

For those who are deprived of the joy of the French language, you may have not heard of the renowned poet, Jacques Prévert (I'm aware that the *cough* name is prone to evoke some uncouth giggles... for the record, it's "pray-vairt", not "pervert"). His mark of distinction and the reason why I myself, a not-exactly-fluent student, appreciate him is that his syntax is rather simple and he writes entirely in free verse. But the truly great aspect is that much of his poetry brings to mind a strong initial imagery, but you then realize, in midst of a second reading, that he, in no way, has forced that image upon you. His poetry set up a situation that could conceivably be applied to any time, place, or character. 

So, after having pored over many of these verses in class, I decided (under premise of an artistic, literary, and linguistic endeavour) to compile a collection of possibly scenarios that could be taking place in these ambiguous poems, relating to and augmented with references from Harry Potter. The seven below are some of my favourites which I have planned out, but I may do more if I get some positive feedback. 

Also, I've translated these myself, so I hope that I've done the original work justice. I don't think that it has the same impact or mystery when read in English, but I suppose that it's an unfortunate necessity. Well... I imagine that I may have desecrated the beauty already by giving the poems an assigned meaning at all... 

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What You Can Expect: 

First Edition - _Déjuner du Matin_: The Pain of Mr. Lupin1

[Remus Lupin, in his youth, suffering for his lycanthropic misfortune at the hands of his own family.]

Second Edition - _Le Message_: Cruciatus Prolonged2

[Neville Longbottom, fourth year and the summer after, receiving a certain letter from St. Mungo's that will change his life.]

Third Edition - _Premier Jour_: Life and Death in Godric's Hollow3

[Lily Potter, 1980, absorbed in the joyous event of Harry's birth, catches a hint of some dark foreshadowing.]

Fourth Edition - _Pour Toi, Mon Amour_: What it is to Seek4

[Viktor Krum, during and surrounding the Tournament, looking for victories in more than one area and discovering rejection.]

Fifth Edition - _Le Cancre_: The Stifling Cage5

[George Weasley, his seventh year, contemplating the worth of growing up versus remaining happy.]

Sixth Edition - _Paris á Nuit_: The Lovely Curse6

[Fleur Delecour, her return to France, struggling with the weight of her heritage and the perks as well as aches that come with it.] 

Seventh Edition - _Chanson de l'Oisleur_: Fiery Loyalty7

[Albus Dumbledore, his last years, seeing his monumental life through different eyes, understanding the psychology of loyalty.]

1 "Breakfast"

2 "The Message"

3 "First Day"

4 "For You, My Love"

5 "The Class Clown"

6 "Paris at Night"

7 "Song of the Bird Keeper"


	2. Déjuner du Matin: The Pain of Mr Lupin

**__**

L'Abattement des Poétes Muet

First Edition - 

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Déjuner du Matin: The Pain of Mr. Lupin

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Please take the time to refer to the short exposition detailing the influence of Jacques Prévert before you read this. Well... I suppose that it's not entirely necessary, but I strongly suggest it before you start to wonder why the "deranged" author has injected her story with French poetry. 

The hurried, chaotic paths of the uncountable raindrops that slithered down the rippled, aged window of the London café mesmerized a young Remus Lupin. They left slightly less sullied trails behind them on the grimy glass. If rain was meant to be a cleansing process, Remus felt no baptismal sentiments. If anything, his life had recently turned from any class of Transcendental philosophy and spiralled somewhere out of his realm of control. He would not feel the comforting presence of control for a long while. 

A tall man, blessed and cursed with blonde hair, fair complexion and a love of the outdoors (a golden portrait in youth, sun and wind worn in elder adulthood), with exposed face and hands of angular build and a profound aura of aloofness, sat opposite Remus at the small, somehow brittle, wrought iron table. His father. Although, of late, there had been precious little moments of characteristic, proud paternity. 

A waitress, prim and somewhat chary, brought a tray of scones, coffee, milk, sugar, and honeyed biscuits. Remus regretted her quick retreat from the table, for he felt, even though there was the glaring fact of numerous others in the café, that he had been left entirely alone in the world with this silent man whom he didn't presume to even know anymore. It was cold, and the presence of any other life was warmth. 

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Il a mis le café

Dans la tasse

Il a mis le lait

Dans la tasse de café

Il a mis le sucre 

Dans le café au lait

Avec la petit cuiller 

Il a tourné

Il a bus le café au lait

Et il a reposé la tasse

(He put the coffee

In the cup

He poured the milk

In the cup of coffee

He put the sugar

In the coffee with cream

With the little spoon

He stirred

He drank the coffee with cream

And he set down the cup) 

Was an unavoidable lycanthrope a reasonable justification for neglect? Of course it was, the pessimist in Remus nearly voiced aloud. Even towards one's firstborn and only son? If he deserves it. Did he deserve it? When certain words are leaked and a situation that was previously a personal problem becomes a public shame... resulting in dismissal from jobs, exclusion from societies, and general fear towards anyone associated with a dangerous Untouchable... maybe he does. Remus knew that his friends and even his Headmaster would assure him differently, that it was the shortcomings of the culture, not the individual, that caused such prejudices, but their words were of little defence against the excruciating silence of a parent. 

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Sans me parler

Il a allumé

Une cigarette

Il a fait des ronds

Avec la fumée

Il a mis les cendres

Dans le cendrier

(Without speaking to me

He lit 

A cigarette

He blew rings

With the smoke

He tapped the ashes

In the ashtray) 

Remus observed the smoke rings float leisurely upward and past him, dissolving into intricate spider webs of pale haze. He looked as piercingly as he dared toward his father, attempting to discern whether the action was a nervous diversion or a habit of relaxation. His features were cryptic... detached. Remus could detect neither a twinge of regret nor detest, and perhaps it was for his better well-being that he never did know. It was a frozen moment in time, a yin and yang of counterpart possibilities. 

If truth had ever been told, this father figure, in all actuality, bore no hatred toward his son... but he had come to a decision, and he was bound and determined to resist any temptation toward compassion. At this moment, he remembered a quote of misremembered origin... "If you can be cruel to those you love, then you will never be weakened by empathy for your enemies". 

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Sans me parler

Sans me regarder

Il s'est levé 

Il a mis

Son chapeau sur sa tête

Il a mis

Son manteau de pluie 

Parce qu'il pleuvait

Et il est parti 

Sur la pluie

(Without speaking to me

Without looking at me

He rose

He put

His hat on his head

He put on

His raincoat 

Because it is raining

And he leaves

In the rain) 

Yin and yang departed. There was no black and white to the world. Like the narrow, flooded streets beyond the protection of the window, the world's prospects consisted of nothing but an uncertain grey. Remus was numb to emotion and he could not bring himself to study the hunched, diminishing figure, whipped by the weather, although the area of his consciousness that was still coherent told him that it would most likely be his last view. 

It was a sudden wave. The facade of collected apathy crumbled within him. Remus Lupin was a werewolf and would remain so. There was no hope of redemption while the fact was sustained. 

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Sans une parole

Sans me regarder

Et moi, j'ai pris

Ma tête dans ma mains

Et j'ai pleure. 

(Without a word

Without looking at me

And me, I placed

My head in my hands

And I wept.) 

Surreal and unimaginable pain was upon Remus Lupin like a pack of merciless wolves.

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Well, I am fast working on the next edition, and it should be posted fairly soon, but you're just left with this for the moment. Hope you found it worthwhile (if a bit eccentric). Only encouragement will incite me to continue this because this is not, by any means, the easiest kind of writing. Look for "Cruciatus Prolonged"!


End file.
